Still further on there is a splendid ruined temple called Bhumiar, which is stated to be one of the finest specimens of a familiar kind of architecture in Cashmere. At certain times of the year numerous Hindoo pilgrims come to visit it. Perhaps the detachment of faqueers we saw at Oree may have been returning from the pilgrimage. A thunderstorm which came on hurried our proceedings, and the thunder rolled grandly as we arrived at Naoshera. Our halting-place for the night was in the barradurrie, close to the rapid Jhellum. Here we got good-sized fish, which were caught in the most primitive manner. A crooked pin fastened to a string and baited with a mulberry, was quite enough to ensure a good plate of fish. I must not forget to mention that the mulberries were in great abundance, and, when we were in Cashmere, formed the staple article of food for the lower classes. But the peasants are not particular, and devour fruit, nowise careful whether the peaches, apples, or melons be ripe or not. We felt rather excited as we went off to bed, for the next day would bring the fulfilment of a long looked-for event, our first sight of the Vale of Cashmere. It was grey dawn when we marched away in the morning. The Jhellum sounded louder than ever, its roar preventing any conversation taking place, and making it expedient for us to ride on in silence. At first we passed through rugged, narrow glens, but soon we emerged into a grassy plain surrounded by high wooded hills, and, amazing metamorphosis! the loud and angry Jhellum flowed smoothly and quietly past with not a ripple on its waters. And now, instead of rocky paths, our road was a perfect level, part of it through rice-fields. Here we met an old friend returning to the plains, accompanied by several coolies laden with trophies of the chase, and delighted with his wanderings in the mountains of Cashmere. There is a great charm in meeting an acquaintance when far from the haunts of civilized life. After some pleasant conversation, we bade adieu to our friend, and continued our ride towards the wooded ridge in front of us, over which lies the Barramula Pass, which is some hundred feet above the plain. This was our last scramble, and when we arrived at the summit we both exclaimed, ‘The Happy Valley at last!’ The top is covered with green grass and shrubs; the view is extensive over a portion of the Vale of Cashmere. You see the Jhellum, the Walloor Lake, Sopoor, and the hills enclosing the northern side. I must own that the first glimpse is rather disappointing. Accustomed for days to the majestic mountains crowned with snow, the dark, mysterious valleys through which the river foamed and raged, the Vale of Cashmere, with its green and fertile pastures, was a sudden change. But soon our eyes became enamoured with the glowing charms of that sweet view, and were quite ready to appreciate fully all its delights.